


Lightning

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, Bottom John, Clothed Sex, Ficlet, Floor Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rain, Thunderstorms, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark and stormy night...</p><p>Or a quickie on the rug</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Because of [RedNavi's amazing art](http://rednavi.tumblr.com/post/66083768010)
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)

Sometimes London was haunted. The dark corners held mystery and death. The fog and rain muffled secrets. Tonight lightning arced across the sky as John and Sherlock chased a thief.

John's breath was loud as he splashed through another puddle. Their target turned down an alley and Sherlock gave a cry of triumph. No one knew these streets better. He ducked down another street and John followed the black coat flapping in the dark, trusting absolutely.

There. The suspect was up against a tall fence. Something flashed in the darkness and John tackled Sherlock to the side half a moment before the gunshot echoed thunder.

Regaining his own feet, John drew his gun. The mans hands were shaking; John's were not. "Do you really want to add a murder charge?" He asked.

The thief hesitated. John moved towards him, steady as the beat of rain. "Don't kill me," he begged, dropping his gun and going to his knees.

John kicked it a few feet away. Sherlock produced a pair of handcuffs. "You aren't police," said the man.

"Obviously," said Sherlock, cuffing him to the fence. "They will be along presently to collect you. Come along, John."

John smirked, heart still racing from the chase. Sherlock met his gaze and  the smile reached his eyes. "Cab home?"

"We're only four blocks from the flat. It won't rain in earnest for another half hour."

"All right, then."

Of course after three blocks it started pouring. The pair ran again, John giggling as they made it into the stairwell. Sherlock grinned down at him, wet hair falling into his eyes. Studying John for a moment he leaned in to kiss him.

John fisted his coat, moaning into his soft lips. Sherlock reached for his belt but John pulled away and looked towards Mrs. Hudson's door. Huffing impatiently, Sherlock grabbed his arm and all but dragged him up the stairs, pushing him onto the rug.

"Sherlock," John moaned, the mans impatient fingers yanking his belt free, then his trousers. Cold fingers dived into his pants, wrapping around his hot length. "God, cold," growled John, arching against him.

Pushing him onto his stomach, Sherlock took his hand away. He quickly prepared John, who groaned and rocked back, wanting this just as badly.

Shifting fabric was the only warning as fingers were replaced by the blunt head of Sherlock's cock. John panted and tried to spread his legs, stopped by the jeans bunched at his thighs. "God," he moaned as Sherlock pushed his way inside, lightning briefly illuminating the flat.

Hot panting breath filled his ears again; his own and Sherlock's. His cock dragged against the rug with every thrust, spiking the pleasure with pain. He reached down and fisted his cock, moaning again. Sherlock drove harder, filling him in all the ways he never knew he'd love.

With a groan Sherlock filled him. John cried out at the sensation, moving his hand faster. Sherlock shifted back onto his knees, bringing John with him, arm wrapped securely around his waist. John's head rested against his shoulder, bringing himself closer and closer to orgasm until he cried out and came. Sherlock, swallowed his cry with a kiss, soft lips locked over his.

John sagged against him, Sherlock's tongue exploring his mouth as if he could taste his climax. Finally he pulled back and kissed John's forehead. Smiling, John shifted forward until he was sitting on the rug. The storm sounded like it was moving off. He peeled off his wet coat. "We should go to bed."

Sherlock took his coat and went to hang it up with his own.  "An excellent idea. Lestrade texted us twice since we arrived home. No doubt he has questions."

"Thank you for not answering while we were busy." A look crossed Sherlock's face in the dim light of the flat. John shook his head, got to his feet, and took his hand. "Come on."

 


End file.
